Prayers and Promises
by The Jack Loving Misfit
Summary: Sequel to 'Leaving You Behind! Jack is back in New York, but is Spot willing to just let him back into his heart? Slashyness, but not too graphic. Should be read after LYB
1. Chapter 1: New York's Not My Home

Prayers and Promises  
  
By: Courtney aka the Jack Loving Misfit  
  
Disclaimer: I don't anything, blah, blah, blah. You know the drill. Nothing's mine, no profits, blah.  
  
Warnings: Slash. But if you know me then you probably knew that already.  
  
A/N: This is the sequel to my other slash story "Leaving You Behind" so to understand this story you should read that one first.  
  
Dedications: To everyone who read LYB and reviewed, because you all rock!!!  
  
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Chapter One: New York's Not My Home (1908)  
  
A man of about twenty-five jumped off the noisy train with ease. His very presence demanded attention and some strange sort of respect, and he had enough charm in his smile to make the few fluttery young women around him blush and whisper to one another. He was dressed in dark slacks and a white button down shirt with a loose collar. A gangster-like hat on top of his brown haired head completed the ensemble. Beside him on the ground was a black suitcase.  
  
From the way he was searching the place with his dark eyes you wouldn't have believed that he had lived in New York until the age of seventeen. But this young man had indeed done just that. And after being gone for a long, drawn out eight years he was finally home.  
  
Back to New York.  
  
Taking his suitcase he walked down to the street and hailed a coach to take him into the heart of Manhattan. He had people he needed to talk too, people to see, people to - well, that'll come later.  
  
"Just drop me off right here thanks," He said to the coach master although keeping his eyes directed in front of the building he had lived in for the better part of his childhood. His accent had faded into nothing other the years as he had learned people out west weren't too fond of the Easterners. Just one of the many surprises he encountered when he left.  
  
"Ya sure sir? Dis is jist a newsies home?" He snickered as if the thought of newsies made him disgusted. The man frowned at his coach master and paid him without tip.  
  
"I was a newsie here once," He said to the man, his eyes darkening slightly in contempt for the lack of tolerance some people had. Immediately the driver stopped his snickering and looked him up and down before coloring in embarrassment and nodding, graciously taking the money given to him without complaint.  
  
Satisfied, the man walked up and into the lodging house almost colliding with two young fighting newsies. He grinned at the sight relishing how much he missed his own old friends and the playful and sometimes not so playful fights they indulged in.  
  
"Hey break it up kids," He said pulling the taller boy off of the much younger looking one. Both boys looked up at him with confusion and mistrust.  
  
"Who da 'ell are youse?" The bigger one asked, ripping himself from his hands and going to stand next to the other boy defiantly. He looked down at the kids with a raised eyebrow and his patented smirk.  
  
"A friend. You guy's have an idea were I could talk to Racetrack Higgins?" He asked bending at the waist to speak with them at eye level. Both looked at him a bit strangely and were about to answer when a voice above them spoke.  
  
"I'se Higgins. But ain't nobody called me Racetrack in a while. Dare somethin I'se can do fer ya mistah?" The deep and accented voice asked. The man raised his eyes to the man standing just behind the boys and he stood back to his original 6'2 height. (Tall in them days)  
  
"Race, youse 'aven't changed a bit," He said taking in the sight of his old friend before him. He hadn't grown a whole lot, (he might be 5'8 on a good day) and he still looked younger than he was, with the exception of his eyes which have seemed to have aged a hundred years since he'd last seen them.  
  
"Dat's nice ta know. Wanna know somethin else dat would be nice? If I'se knew who youse was," Race said in that slightly sarcastic, yet not offense, tone of his. Which just made the man smile wider.  
  
The man took off his hat and dropped it on the counter beside them. His hair was the same length and style as it had been eight years earlier and he figured without the hat he would be easier to recognize.  
  
"Come on Race, think hard. You know me," He said in an amused voice. Race leaned over a little to get a better look at the man in front of him. He did recognize him. Brown hair falling in his eyes slightly, an impish smirk covering his lips, dark brown eyes. . . Race's eyes flew open wide in realization and he dropped open his jaw some as well.  
  
"Jack?" He asked slowly, cautiously. From the smile that spread from his mouth to his eyes Race knew he was right. He barreled over his newsies in the rush to hug his old friend.  
  
When the two older men parted, Race felt his jacket being tugged slightly from his side, they looked down to see one of the boys from earlier, nicknamed Scrap, looking at him in confusion and a need to understand.  
  
"Mr. Higgins, who is dat?" He asked softly. But Jack still heard.  
  
Race smiled and crouched down til he was resting on his toes and pointed to Jack before explaining. "Dis jist happens ta be a good friend of mine. Youse probably heard of him befoah, Jack Kelly?"  
  
The young boy's eyes grew wide and looked over at Jack with a gaped openly shocked expression on his face. The older boy beside him looked just as surprised. Since they were young, from the moment they stepped foot into the Manhattan lodging house they had heard of Jack Kelly, the most famous leader in those parts, the one who led the strike of 1899. He was a living legend in their young eyes, much the same way Spot Conlon was to the Brooklyn boys now. Of course, with Jack gone (as they had heard, out west) none of them had ever figured they'd get to meet him. And here he was standing in front of them. Breathing and everything.  
  
"Youse really Jack Kelly?" Scrap asked, the shocked look still adorning his face.  
  
"Last time I checked," Jack laughed at the sight of both boys.  
  
The boys turned to each other then made a mad dash to the bunk house where, no doubt, the rest of the boys were probably residing. Sighing, Race led Jack inside the familiar house and over to a more secluded area so they could talk some before all the boys were down the stairs and looking for their hero.  
  
"When did ya get back Jack?" Race asked in a low voice. That was another thing that had changed about him, his voice had gotten deeper and a little raspier. Probably from yelling at all those young newsies day in and out.  
  
"Just today. This was the first place I came too, heard you were the head now," Jack explained, leaning back into the chair Race had offered him. Race smiled fondly and nodded as if he understood everything without hearing a thing.  
  
"Yeah, four years now. . ." He trailed off and brought his eyes up to Jack's face. Studying it. Jack hadn't changed all that much. He looked older, yes, but if you looked into his eyes you could still see that seventeen year old newsie with the quick tongue and charismatic ways. No matter what, he was still Jack.  
  
"Four years. God, and I've been gone for eight. That's a long time. Longer than I noticed, the time flies down in the south," He shook his head. He had meant to come home earlier, but he had never found a good time, and his job hadn't really allowed any away time. At least not to a place as far away as New York.  
  
"Yeah, it is a long time. What ya been doing wit yerself all dis time anyways?" Race asked, genuinely wanting to now.  
  
"Oh, this and that. I got a job down there, didn't even need the training they told me. I was a natural."  
  
"Job? Doing what?"  
  
"Writing. The Phoenix Press," He grinned as Race laughed out loud. Of course Jack would turn out to be a writer, and for a newspaper now less. He just seemed made for the business. Improving the truth and all.  
  
"I'se see ya lost yer accent," Race commented, raising an eyebrow. Jack's smile faltered, but not by much.  
  
"Yeah, well, the western people didn't like us easterners, so I dropped the accent. Pretended I was from Chicago," He said, twisting his hands uselessly in his lap.  
  
"Youse always was a good actor dere Jack."  
  
"What's THAT suppose to mean?"  
  
"Nuthin, don' take it personal. So, uh, youse 'ere long? Or jist passin through on some mission or somethin?" Race asked, changing the subject. Jack relaxed at the change and a broad smile ripped through his lips once again.  
  
"I'm staying. For good. The Times offered me a better paying job and I jumped at the chance. Though I probably would've taken it for as much money as I was making with the press," Jack mused as he answered. Race's eyes widened slightly upon hearing the news of Jack's moving back permanently.  
  
"Youse serious Jack? Youse ain't playin wit me mind are ya's?" He questioned in shock, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him.  
  
"Now, Racetrack, would I ever do that?" He replied innocently, looking at him through long eyelashes. The expression was enough to get a grin out of Race's face.  
  
"Yes. But I'se 'ill take yer word fer it. And welcome back," He leaned over and hugged Jack again.  
  
"Glad to be back," He answered letting go of his old best friend.  
  
"See! I'se told ya lunkheads 'e was 'ere! It really is Jack Kelly!" Voices from the side break the two grown-up's thoughts and anything else they may have to say to each other died on their tongues, as they turned to look at the squirmy teens looking at them with wide and anxious eyes.  
  
Race smirked and rolled his eyes at their tension filled stances, as if they were trying to pass some sort of inspection. He knew how much they looked up to Jack, even without knowing what he looked like (besides a few descriptions) and knew they were trying to seem more adult in front of him. Of course, since Race knew him so well it was still hard for him to believe or comprehend how you could think of him as some sort of god or something. His boys and Brooklyn's boys often got into fights over who was better, Jack or Spot. Brooklyn always won, simply because they would yell, 'well, where is this Kelly? Or that's right he left didn't he'. The fights would be coming quicker now that Jack was back.  
  
Things could definitely get interesting real fast.  
  
"You boys shouldn't bother Jack tonight. Or maybe 'e won' stay. Dere's always tomorrow ta see 'im," Race said finally, Jack throwing him a grateful and slightly tired look.  
  
"Aw, but Mr. Higgins, we ain't neveah seen nobody like Jack befoah. Jist because youse knows 'im an' all -  
  
"Youse right, I'se do know 'im. An' I'se knows jist how nasty 'e is in da morning if 'e don' get 'is beauty sleep," Race cut the young newsie off. And also gained a mocking glare from Jack for the 'beauty sleep' comment.  
  
"But -  
  
"I'se ain't arguing no more. Now go," He pointed in the direction of the stairs which led to the bunks. The kids grumped and cursed under their breaths but did as they were told with the promise of seeing Jack tomorrow. After the last one had disappeared from view, Jack left out a long breath.  
  
"Thanks Race, I am pretty tired. Boy, were we like that when we were that young?" He asked although he already knew the answer.  
  
"I'se would imagine so. Besides, it ain't every day dat dare hero, Jack Kelly, da strike leadeah 'imself comes ta town," Race said wiggling his eyebrows a little. Inciting a laugh and punch in the arm from the strong man.  
  
"Don't remind me. I didn't think I was that big around here."  
  
"You are. Even more so den dey're lettin on."  
  
"Right."  
  
Race looked down at Jack and bit his lips some as if deciding to ask him something. "'Ay, Jack, youse got any place ta stay?" He asked slowly.  
  
"Nah. . . like I said, I came straight here after leaving the station. Why?"  
  
"Youse wouldn' want ta stay 'ere would ya? Fer old times sake and all dat other BS?" Race said waving a hand in the air as if to pinpoint exactly what he meant with a couple simple gestures.  
  
Jack tilted his head to the side, to consider the proposal then broke out in a smile. "Did ya really have to ask?"  
  
"Knowing you, probably not," Race commented dryly.  
  
Jack picked up his suitcase and followed Race through the building to one of the rooms that was small, but cozy. It had a bed, a dresser and a mirror above that. Race's room was attached to that, separated by a wall and a door. He dropped his case beside the dresser and flopped down on the bed while Race casually sat on the edge looking down at Jack. Another question posed on his lips, and an uncertain look on his face. It made me look younger.  
  
"Something wrong Race?"  
  
"Um, no not really. I'se was jist wonderin. . . youse stayin 'ere fer good an' all, I'se was jist thinkin dat youse couldn' avoid. . . damnit, dis is hard ta say," Race took a breath and shook his head. Jack gave him a worried look and sat up so that he was more eye level with Race.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
" 'E's still in Brooklyn ya know."  
  
Jack stiffened. His whole body freezing to the very place were he was sitting. He felt his muscles get tight and his eyes go cloudy. He knew exactly how Race was talking about. And he was almost wondering how long it would take someone to mention his name or at least his presence, around him. Well, it hadn't taken that long.  
  
"I could've guessed."  
  
"How long you plannin ta avoid 'im?" The question asked with sincerity.  
  
"I don' know Race. I mean, it's been eight years. . . he's probably got a wife, or girlfriend, or kids or something. Right?"  
  
The expression that passed or Race's face was enough to almost break his heart. He just stared down at the mattress below them, then brought his eyes slowly back up to Jack's, meeting them. His own eyes clouding over.  
  
"Yer right Jack, it has been eight years. But, uh, 'e ain't got no wife. 'Er girlfriend fer dat mattah. 'E ain't had nuthin but meaningless flings dat I'se 'ave known about anyways," He explained, then broke his gaze and began twirling his fingers in his own grip. "I'se always kinda figured youse would 'ave kids an such 'dough."  
  
"Single as they come," Jack answered half-heartedly, but not smiling. He let Racetrack's words roll in his mind.  
  
No wife.  
  
No girlfriend.  
  
No kids.  
  
Meaningless flings.  
  
Eight years. . .  
  
"Youse are probably tired, an' I'se shouldn' be bodering youse. So, I'se 'ill go ta bed too," He said finally, but keeping his eyes away from Jack, his face bent downward so Jack could no longer get a good look at it. Not that he needed too, he could only imagine what he looked like.  
  
He caught Race's wrist as he brushed by him to the door that would lead to his own room. He looked up at his friends face and licked his lips nervously.  
  
"What do you think I should do?"  
  
Race sighed, and shook his head, then ran a hand through his inky black hair. "I'se don' know Jack. I'se honestly don' know. But, uh, try not ta avoid 'im fer too long, okay?"  
  
Jack nodded and let go of the wrist and watched as he slipped through the door, shutting it with a quiet click. He fell back onto the bed soundlessly, his head hitting the pillow with gentle ease and making his weary eyes close. But images and emotion and feelings flooded his mind and body then. Speeding up his pulse, and making his heart beat quicker. So quick he thought it might burst from the pressure. Fantasies, and actual events blurring into each other, melting into his brain.  
  
Race was right. He shouldn't avoid him for too long. He was bound to find out he was back in town soon and the prolonged visiting could hurt him, or make no difference to him, who knew how he felt after eight years? Outta sight, outta mind, right?  
  
That may be the case for Spot, but for Jack Kelly the appropriate saying was something more along the lines of 'absence makes the heart grow stronger'. 


	2. Chapter 2: The Other Side of Brooklyn

A/N: Second chapter finished!!! YAY! Anyways, on to the thank you page.  
  
SpotLover421: Thanks bunches, with cherries! And, btw, I liked the second chapter of your one story there, ClearWaterAcedemy! Keep writing.  
  
AnUNDERCOVERnewsie: Don't follow me! (I'm paranoid enough already!) But thanks and I will continue to write.  
  
TheCrazyUnknown: You are, seriously, too kind to me! What did I do to have to you give me all these great reviews?! Anyways, thanks again, I wish I could give ya something, but I ain't got nothing. (I read your bio and say I was on your favorite authors list, and I am touched!) So here's the second chapter for you!!  
  
(And the others of course!! ()  
  
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Chapter Two: The Other Side of Brooklyn  
  
Spot Conlon watched the newsies he was in charge of burst through the door of the lodging house, smiles lighting their faces and laughter escaping their lips. They looked like a rag tag group of street kids - which in reality was what they were. It reminded him of how he and his boys used to be once upon a time. But those days had ended close to six years earlier and all his old friends were far gone by now. The only person he associated with occasionally was Racetrack and that was only because their boys got in some many fights.  
  
"Hey Spot, how's it rollin?" Burn, the now leader of the Brooklyn kids, smirked up at his hero. The man he modeled his leadership skills from. Spot had made them all promise to call him that instead of 'Mr.Conlon', it made him feel older then his actual twenty-five years.  
  
"Not bad, Burn. How's da sellin today?" He asked making conversation.  
  
"Oh, it's jist perfect sir. Da good headlines are comin round. Makes fer easier sellin an' such," He explained as if Spot had never been a newsie as himself.  
  
"Good ta know, because youse are definitely number one of m bad list because youse owe me close to a dollar," Spot reminded him, not-so-subtly.  
  
"Aw, but Spot, I'se been a good worker! Can' wese jist ferget about da dept?" Burn complained.  
  
Spot threw him a look that clearly blackmailed that idea. Sighing, the sixteen year old dug into his pockets and came up with just over sixty cents, paying most of the dept he had dug himself into.  
  
"Youse drive a hard bargain boss," He said. Spot laughed good-naturedly and scribbled in his sign-in book, marking off the dept as repaid fully. He could cut the kids a break once in a while.  
  
Above him, the newsies settled into their own routines. Some went off into the corner and played a nasty almost cut-throat game of poker. While others just screwed around with each other. (And not that way) Burn and Cross- Match would teach some of the younger ones too fight, which always led to bruises and next morning complainants. And the sad thing was they would go on like that for hours, blissful in their doings until it was time to sleep or go out for the night.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Conlon sir? Is Burn in? Wese need ta tawk ta 'im fer a few," A familiar voice broke into his mid-day musings.  
  
He raised his eyes and came face to face with the seventeen year old leader of the Manhattan newsies. Splinter wasn't alone either. Benji and Rookie were standing on either of his sides. All three had set smirks and confident looks on their faces. As if they were here to prove something. Spot didn't trust expressions like that. It was practically like announcing that something was going to go down.  
  
" 'E's up in da bunkhouse. But Splinter, I'se don' want no trouble ya hear?" Spot accented, narrowing his eyes. Splinter flinched under the glare, but then again what newsie wouldn't? He nodded then made his way over to the stairs leading to the bunks.  
  
Silence followed and Spot listened closely for any signs of a fight. Just waiting for the screaming and thumps to be heard. But neither came. Instead, some pounding on the stairways resided through the echoing house, soon to revel the crowd of newsies, talking excitedly to themselves. Splinter in the lead, Burn beside him, a doubtful look spread across his face.  
  
" 'Ay! Where ya bums t'ink yer runnin off too?" Spot called, which stopped all the newsies in their tracks. Burn turned around to face him and thought about how he was going to say this.  
  
"Splinter's jist got somethin ta show us, dat's all," He answered, licking his lips nervously. His hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. Spot simply raised an eyebrow, not liking the way Burn sounded.  
  
"Show ya what?"  
  
" 'Ay, why's don' ya come wit us Conlon? Wese could 'ave a showdown 'er somethin," Rookie suggested seriously, a smile creeping onto his face. He was one of the biggest fighters in New York and loved a good one when he saw one.  
  
Spot thought quickly and reacted even quicker. He sprang from his desk and walked over to the two leaders and the two other Manhattan boys. He told the rest of the Brooklyn ones to stay put while he was gone. To follow Crazy's lead. (Crazy being the second most respected newsie beside Burn)  
  
The small gang walked over to Manhattan in silence. Spot stayed behind the rest of them, wondering what was so important that they thought even he should see or know. The four boys ahead of him were concentrating on the road, making sure they turned and twisted with the bridge as they changed territories. Spot already knew the twists, like the roads in his mind they were well worn to him. His feet could take him there without his knowing and had on several occasions in the past eight years. His safe haven. His own version of heaven, although shadowed and tangled in the mixture of emotions he felt upon stepping into Manhattan, he loved that part of New York. Even more then his own place.  
  
Of course, there was a reason for that. A reason that his mind often wandered too in the mornings after the youngins had left him alone in the stuffy house. Memories would sweep through his so violently he could hardly breath through the cluster of emotions that caught in the back of his throat. He didn't cry anymore. He had in the beginning, but he had learned to control himself when he became the owner of the Brooklyn lodging house. Things hadn't changed much during that time. Instead of being a newsie, he was in charge of them. And they respected him.  
  
They always respected him.  
  
After he had left, the rumors started with a vengeance. Spinner having started them, and making his knowledge known throughout Harlem, Queens and the rest of Brooklyn. People were doubtful, but when Spot denied none of them, they began to wonder if they were right after. The rumors were finally killed when Spot's boys (excluding Rage) spoke in his defense, and the Manhattan boys backed him up. Now no one besides Race and the other's knew the truth. Spot preferred it that way. It was less torturous when people wouldn't pass him knowing he was shattered inside and cold outside.  
  
Rage had left Brooklyn not long after the end of the rumors. Roller had told him it was because Rage was jealous of Jack or something to that matter. Roller was vague enough that Spot didn't understand very well, only enough to know better than to ask anymore.  
  
Eight years. . .  
  
Eight years in a desert of people, filth and broken feelings. Loneliness clouded over him most of the time, the only people to help him forget about Jack being his own newsies. Since Jack's departure, Race and Spot stayed in touch (as said earlier) but the alliance that had been formed between the two boroughs died quickly. Splinter and Burn despised each other and probably always would. Despite the owners friendship, fights and small wars broke out all the time.  
  
And now he was on his way over to the Manhattan lodging house with the aforementioned boys and two of Splinter's right hand men. He was at least comforted by the fact that none of them would try anything with him so near by. All they wanted to do was show them something.  
  
But what?  
  
"Wese 'ere. Now, Burny, you're not gonna understand at first. But maybe yer precious Conlon will provide an explanation," Splinter said when they had finally reached their destination. All five people walked into the lodging house without another word, while Spot and Burn were led through the house and up to the bunks where talking and laughing could be heard.  
  
Benji opened the door quietly so as to not disturb the conversations. Splinter led the others in and cleared his throat once all were in the room. The newsies attention was caught instantly by their older leader's. Eyes staring wide at Burn and Spot. Burn was looking at the other man in the room. Spot's eyes had fallen on one particular bunk which lay unoccupied. He didn't even notice anyone else was in the room at the time.  
  
"Who's dis? Should I know 'im?" Burn asked casually, glancing at the grown man who had walked over to Splinter, a wide smirk covering his mouth. He had short brown hair, some falling lightly over his face. His brown eyes sparkled and he towered over the boys all around him. He didn't recognize the man in front of him but he felt he should for some reason.  
  
"Youse knows 'im. Although, not really." Splinter took a step forward and pointed back at Burn while talking to the man. "Dis 'ere is Burn. 'E's da leadah of da Brooklyn newsies."  
  
The man looked down at the boy of no more than sixteen standing slightly nervous in front of him. So this was the Brooklyn boy now. He looked like he could keep his own, but who knew? His eyes shifted to the other man they had brought in. He was definitely older than the leader. And staring at one of the bunks. He glanced quickly at which one and realized, strangely, it was his old bed. He narrowed his eyes and walked over to the man behind Burn. Dirty blonde hair, short, thin, crystal blue eyes. . . he reached out and grabbed the man's wrist twirling him over to face him. And when he did, his eyes widened and his breathing became rushed.  
  
Spot felt himself being pulled in another direction, he also felt a strong grip on his wrist forcing to go with the movement. He snarled in his throat and looked down at his arm. No one touched him so roughly and got away from it. Especially not some young punky newsie. He looked up sharply, fully intending to reprimand him in some way. But when he caught those eyes staring down at him in shock he felt his heart jump straight from his chest to this mouth.  
  
'It can't be. It can't. He's gone. Eight years now, he isn't coming back. It's not him, don't get too excited,' His mind yelled at his body, but the rest of him would hear none of it. His pale eyes gazed slowly over the face above him, taking it in. The same strong jaw line, same hair, same tasty lips, same naturally pink cheeks, same soft eyes. . .it was him. It had to be.  
  
"Jack?" He breathed finally. He had to be sure. He also prayed that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him and that he had just made a fool of himself.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. . .it's me," The voice answered. That was the final confirmation. Not the words. The voice, he'd recognize that voice a mile away. He felt Jack let go of his wrist and without warning reached down and hugged Spot to him.  
  
Spot hugged back, but let go before anyone could get to suspicious of anything. Those rumors still had him paranoid even eight years down the road.  
  
"Wait, wait, wait. Youse is Jack Kelly?" Burn's cracked voice asked from the side.  
  
Jack smirked and looked down at the boy beside Spot. "Well, technically yeah. That's my name, kid."  
  
"But youse was gone! Out in da west!" He exclaimed.  
  
"Was. Yes. But I'm back."  
  
"Fer how long?"  
  
" 'Til I die, I suppose."  
  
Spot stared intently at Jack. He was staying? For good? No more leaving, no more anything. He was really truly going to be in New York til he died? He surpassed a smile of his own by biting his lip.  
  
"When did ya get 'ere Jack?" Spot asked quietly. A voice he never used, and he was quite certain he saw Burn raise an eyebrow and a surprised look go over Splinter's face.  
  
"Just yesterday. I'm staying here with Race and the boys. Til I find a place of my own," He added, looking back at Spot's face. Which, although aged some, still looked as good as it did when they were both eighteen.  
  
"Were youse plannin ta visit anytime soon dere Cowboy?" He said in a sarcastic, but light hearted way. Jack laughed gently at the use of his old nickname. He hadn't been called 'Cowboy' in a long time.  
  
"Sure, I was. I couldn't just move here and not look up my old friend Spot Conlon? What would I get then, huh?" He countered.  
  
"Lynched probably."  
  
"Exactly, I like my body in one piece thank you."  
  
This time Spot bit his tongue to keep from answering that statement with something like, 'I do too,' and just smiled while shaking his head.  
  
It was then that the younger Manhattan boys began crowding around Jack again, probably looking more stories and words uttered from there hero. Jack let himself be led away, but only after mouthing, 'We'll talk later', to Spot and knowing from his nod of agreement that Spot had seen that.  
  
Burn and Spot left the lodging house soon after, by themselves this time, and headed back in the direction of Brooklyn. Burn had a slightly misunderstood look on his face while Spot was trying to contain himself from smiling so hard his face might break. It was Burn who's voice gaped through the cool night air that was swirling all around the pair.  
  
"I'se didn' know youse an' Kelly were suppos' ta be such good friends."  
  
Spot glanced out of the corner of his eyes at him. "Yeah, wese was good friend. I'se figured everyone knew dat."  
  
"Nah. . .wese t'ought you 'ated each udderh or somethin," the newsie shrugged his shoulders, kicking a small stone with his foot, his head bent down.  
  
"It's impossible, or at least damn hard too, to hate Jack Kelly. If youse knew 'im, youse would understand dat."  
  
"Maybe. . . but I'se. . .HEARD things about 'im dat, um, make me uncomfortable," Burn stumbled over his words. His eyes not meeting Spot's or staying focused on anything for that matter.  
  
"What kind of. . .things?" Spot asked cautiously.  
  
"It's nuthin, ferget I'se said anything." The words came out mumbled and Burn stuffed his hands in his pockets.  
  
"Don' tell me ta ferget it. Dis is me close friend wese are talking about an' I'se want ta know if an' what someone' been sayin about 'im."  
  
"Jist little things, ya know? Dat, uh, dat 'e doesn' like goils. An' dat 'e tried ta put da moves on ya once."  
  
Spot was glad the coolness of the air didn't immediately turn heated from the anger that rose in his body, coming out of his eyes and ears. So rumors hadn't really ended, at least not totally. That bothered him. Who after all this time would still be spreading them? Another leader? An old enemy? Who? He reached out and roughly turned Burn to face him, letting his anger shine through. Blazing. Burn's eyes widened in fear and he flinched from Spot's touch.  
  
"Don' youse believe any of dat shit, ya hear me? It ain't true. Not a word of it. I'se 'ave known Jack fer ten years now an' 'e ain't nevah, 'put da moves' on me, ya hear? Dat understood?"  
  
Burn nodded violently.  
  
"Good," He let go of his arm and turned back in the direction they were heading. "An' youse tell anyone else who believes dat stuff da same thing. I'se don' want no newsies of mine disrespecting Jack. Especially not after everything 'e did wit da strike ta help you kids."  
  
Again Burn only nodded, his eyes still wide. He was shook up and didn't say a thing the rest of the way.  
  
Spot thought what the next day could possibly bring. He had to talk to Jack, that much was for certain. Find out what he had been doing for the past eight years of his life in the old west. Find out if he had a job, friends and what not down there. But most of all, find out if he had a family. Wife, kids, girlfriend. . .anything. Or if he was like Spot. Alone. Maybe a fling or two, but nothing beyond a little comfort. Comfort that didn't mean anything when all you could do the whole time was imagine someone else's face.  
  
His eyes fluttered closed as he thought of Jack. He was back for good. And staying, if only temporally, at the Manhattan lodging house. By tomorrow every newsie in New York would know he was back and would be asking about him. Alone time would be hard to buy, but since he was Spot Conlon, he figured he could pull it off with relative ease. All he wanted to do was talk to him.  
  
Well, that wasn't true. He wanted to do much more than that, but who knew how the tides may have changed for Jack in eight years. He might not have thought of Spot at all.  
  
Spot squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his comforter closer to his body. Sinking into the safe feel of them. His thoughts drifted from negative to positive. Imagining that Jack may be doing the same thing over the bridge at that same moment. That too, gave him a sense of comfort. Tomorrow would be a good day. How did he know? Because his prayers had been answered. And Jack had kept his promise.  
  
He was back.  
  
For good.  
  
And what could possibly be bad about that? 


	3. Chapter 3: Finding the Silver Lining

Thanks too:  
  
TheCrazyUnknown and anUNDERCOVERnewsie: Thank you guys so much! And I'm so updating! So here's the third chapter for you!!  
  
Unnamed: I love Spot too.  
  
kellyanne: Thanks, and I just want to say that I love your stories as well, so I'm telling YOU to keep writing!  
  
SpotLover421: You're too kind! I'm glad you like my style of writing, I never used too, but with everyone complimenting me I just might change my mind.  
  
Chapter Three: Finding the Silver Lining  
  
Jack woke up only after one of the younger newsies, Taylor, yelled good morning too him. Not a particularly bad way to greet the day, but he'd rather it was sometime later in the morning. His job at the Press, and the time change made him a lot more tired then he figured it would. He groaned softly and rolled over to face the opposite wall.  
  
"Oh, no youse don'! Youse back in New York, youse is going to wake up wit da rest of us again," Race's laughing voice flooded through his ears. He pulled the blanket over Jack off of him, making him cry out slightly from the rush of cool air that slid up his barely covered body.  
  
"I certainly didn't miss these cold mornings though, that's fer sure," Jack mumbled quietly to himself, but sat up without any other complaints.  
  
"Sure, sure. Whatevah. 'Ay, I heard youse say Spot yesterday," Race commented, knowing that all the newsies were well on their way to the distribution center by now. Jack stretched, threw on some casual clothes and nodded.  
  
"Yeah, Splinter dragged him and some kid, Burn, over here to met me," He answered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes while talking.  
  
"So, youse didn't get to talk one on one yet. . ." He trailed off, resting his eyes on Jack's face.  
  
Jack shook his head and ran a hand through his bed head hair. "Not yet, but I'm going to Brooklyn today to see him."  
  
"Smart man."  
  
Jack laughed and let the smile from that linger on his face. He was looking forward to spending some 'alone' time with Spot. So they could talk, and maybe, just maybe, see where each other's feelings stand. He brain paused slightly on the thought that maybe Spot didn't like him that way anymore. That maybe, although their was no girlfriend, there might be a boyfriend somewhere. Frustrated with himself, he shook his head violently to wash out those feelings, planting the positive ones back into his mind.  
  
"He's normally out by the docks in the morning," Race commented.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The docks. In Brooklyn. He goes and just sits there in the morning."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He thinks better there."  
  
"What does he think about?"  
  
"Everything."  
  
Jack nodded, knowing exactly by the tone of his voice, what Race was implying with that answer. He didn't comment, just pondered some himself before waving haphazardly to him and leaving the lodging house altogether.  
  
The trek out to Brooklyn was familiar and nice in the early morning sun bathing. New York was just waking up around him and the city's sounds were like music to Jack's deprived ears. He'd missed the hustle and bustle of New York out west, things were quieter. Everyone had guns, but other than that, quiet. In fact, he had missed a lot once he was gone, and he would've come back earlier had he not had the job. Steady work. It was definitely a god-send.  
  
He found Spot exactly where Race said he would. Sitting, by himself, almost dejectedly, on the docks. His face pitted in an expression of weariness and thoughtfulness. His clear blue eyes were clouded over and lost in images Jack couldn't see. He was leaning backward on his hands, his legs spread out and crossed at the ankles. He looked younger than his twenty-five years and it made Jack smile to see him so open. Slowly, he sneaked up on the smaller man before plopping down beside him.  
  
"What 'cha doing out here Spotty?" He asked loud enough to break Spot's gaze and have the former newsie leader look over at him.  
  
Spot grinned sadly, "Jist thinkin."  
  
"Anything I can help you with?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, picking up a small pebble next to him and heaving it into the water near them.  
  
"Maybe. . .Jack, are youse really 'ere ta stay? Seriously? Dat wasn't jist a bunch of crap ya said last night was it?" Spot suddenly said, sitting up straight and looking directly at Jack, a hopeful look gracing his features.  
  
"Seriously, yes. Got a job at the Times. Besides, I missed this place to much. It's my home ya know?" He glanced at Spot who nodded vigorously.  
  
"I'se know. I'se jist wanted ta know dat youse was gonna be around."  
  
"It's been a long time hasn't it?"  
  
"Eight years."  
  
"Race told me you weren't involved with anyone. . . I kinda wondered about that," Jack commented casually, this time actually pinning Spot's eyes with his own.  
  
Spot broke the look and hung his head downward slightly. "Nah. . .I ain't got nobody. Never wanted anyone. An da one person I'se did want wasn't nowheres around. 'E was out west, livin his dream. What about you? Anyone?" Again, Spot lifted his head with that hopeful look in his eyes.  
  
"Nobody. Ever. No one can keep my attention. . .or rather, I won't let them. I think I've been ruined."  
  
Spot laughed at this conclusion. "Ain't dat da truth! I'se been ruined since I'se was sixteen. Nine years is a long time ta be broken."  
  
"No kidding."  
  
Their laughter faded and Spot resorted to biting his lips nervously. Jack saw this and wondered what was bothering him. What had happened to him in the eight years he had disappeared from existence?  
  
"Something wrong Spot?"  
  
"Not now, it's jist, well, you know what happened at da train station when youse left?" He asked. Jack thought back quickly and nodded.  
  
"Well, Spinner, ya remember Dodger's right hand boy, 'e, uh, SAW us. An' 'e kinda spread da woid around ta all da newsies."  
  
Jack's eyes widened and his body stiffened as he looked at Spot who was twisting his hands. He narrowed his eyes and licked his own lips in a nervous gesture.  
  
"So, you mean Spinner told people that I. . ."  
  
". . .Kissed me? Yeah. Most didn't believe it. But I never said anything ta change it or deny dem or anything. So, dey, uh started being believed."  
  
"But your boys -  
  
"Denied it fer me. Except a couple, dey, uh, dey knew I'se loved ya. I accidentally told 'um after ya left. Dey came into da bunkhouse an saw me cryin. An' I'se was so mad and upset an'. . ." He was shaking slightly, which was enough for Jack to pull him into a tight hug. Anything to stop what might have been the beginning of tears. In turn, Spot gripped Jack's clothes and buried his head into the comforting contour of his shoulder while he gathered himself again.  
  
"I'm sorry Spot. I am. About everything. . .but I'm back now. I'm back. And I'm not going anywhere this time. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise," He whispered soothingly into his ear, sending a tingling feeling down Spot's spine.  
  
"But now, da rumors ain't like da way dey were. Da rumor is youse tried to force me inta somethin, an' dat youse an' I'se 'ate each udderh."  
  
"I don't care. I know that's not what happened and you know it. And Race knows it. Who else matters?"  
  
"But yer reputation Jack -  
  
"I. Don't. Care," He emphasized every word, talking into Spot's thick hair.  
  
Spot tightened his grip on Jack and squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the emotion that was thickening in his throat just from being this close to him after all these years. Jack didn't seem to mind Spot's clingyness, maybe he understood the urge as he too kept Spot wrapped up next to his body.  
  
"I missed you," Spot said, muffled, into Jack. He heard the man talking and he smiled, lowering his mouth to just next to his ear.  
  
"I missed you too."  
  
Again, a shiver racked through Spot's body as Jack's breath and voice hit his ear. He looked up at Jack who was smirking down at him, knowing full well exactly the reaction he was going to get and loving every second of it. Spot returned the smile, shyly, then released his death grip on Jack's chest and shifted his hands up to Jack's shoulders, staring straight into the dark eyes he fell in love with as a teenager more than nine years earlier.  
  
"I'se, uh, really need ya ta do somethin fer me," He said in a shuddering breath.  
  
"Sure, what is it?"  
  
"Kiss me."  
  
Jack seemed slightly shocked from the strange request so Spot felt the need to explain himself more.  
  
"It's jist dat it's been so long, an' having youse 'ere an' -  
  
Jack put a finger over his lips, hushing the useless flow of words instantly. His eyes were silently begging Jack, but he didn't need the begging. He wanted to just as much as Spot did. Eight years was an awful long time.  
  
He slowly replaced his finger with his lips. Kissing Spot tentatively. The kiss eventually turned more heated, gaining in passion. Spot's hand tightened on Jack's shoulders, one hand straying to the back of his neck, massaging it lightly. Jack pulled Spot closer to him until Spot was pretty much on top of his lap. From then on, everything became frenzied. Lips, tongues and heat meeting and releasing each other in a matter of mere seconds. The two finally pulled apart when one of them remembered they needed to breath.  
  
Panting feverishly, Spot let his hands drop from Jack's hair down to his chest, while Jack let go of Spot, letting him back off of his lap. (Though not totally). Neither spoke for what seemed like hours. Just sat there quietly in each others company, trying to form coherent thoughts to say.  
  
"That good enough for you Spot?" Jack finally said when his breathing was under control again.  
  
"More than enough," He licked his lips without thinking and looked back up at Jack.  
  
"So, I guess this means things are back the way they were huh?" He questioned playfully, though his undertone asking for a serious answer.  
  
"Uh, I'se don' know Jack. . .I mean, can dey ever be back to da way dey was?" Spot countered. With this statement he watched as Jack's eyes darkened and his mouth twisted into a frown.  
  
"What are you saying Spot?"  
  
"I don't want people to. . .I don't know. Find out. I'se got a whole truckload of kids ta look afteah that think youse tried ta 'put da moves' on me, an' hate ya for it. I'se jist don' want somethin ta happen. . ." He trailed off, not explaining his reasoning to well.  
  
"I see. You're scared of what a bunch of kids would think if they accidentally found out that they're great god-like hero was gay. And involved with Jack Kelly no less," Jack forcefully said, though his tone was dead calm. Much to calm. Spot couldn't detect any emotion what so ever, which meant Jack was shutting himself down. He couldn't allow that to happen.  
  
"Jack, youse know dat ain't what I meant -  
  
"Den what do ya mean?!" He yelled, hints of his original New York accent falling back into place. He would've smiled at that had the anger in Jack's eyes stopping him.  
  
"You! I'se don' want ta do dis an' have ya leave me dis time because ya realized I was a passing faze. Or, dat da risk ain't worth it."  
  
Jack sat silently, then shrugged off Spot's hands before standing back up on the dock. Spot scrambled to his feet to stand next to him. He watched as Jack sighed, then looked down at him.  
  
"Well, you just think about all that Spot. And when you make your decision, come find me. You know where to find me. Just know that whatever you decided, I'll leave it be. But also know I don't care what you think, I do love you. I had the chance to prove to myself that I didn't time and time again, but you can't prove something that isn't real."  
  
He left then, leaving Spot standing on the docks with a thoughtful look on his young face. His mind repeating Jack's words. That night, after he layied down to go to sleep in his cold bed, alone, his mind instantly made the decision for him, with his heart backing him up a hundred and ten percent.  
  
He could hardly wait to tell Jack the good news. 


	4. Chapter 4: Shadows of Your Past

Chapter Four: Shadows of Your Past  
  
Spot bounced on the heels of his shoes as he waited - very impatiently - for the clock to move over to the "6" digit, signaling the time he figured Jack would be coming home (or to the lodging house) after work. In all his life, of all the years he'd wasted remembering Jack and wishing he had been there with him, of all the years he'd been on this earth, not one day had passed so slowly as this day was going. At least, not in his mind. Time only went slow when you wanted it to pass quickly and vice-versa.  
  
Sighing, he went over to his desk and sat down in the old seat, his eyes trained - fixated - on the clock staring teasingly back at him. His newsies were wearily coming in by the handfuls, but he didn't notice there insistent chatter for once and made no move to quiet them down as the confining night's made them rowdier then they normally were. That is he didn't notice until he heard Jack's name pop up in one of the conversations being carried on all around him.  
  
"So Kelly really is back?" One of them, Classical, one of the older newsies asked his best friend, the best fighter the Brooklyn boys had at the time, Cross-Match.  
  
"Yeah, dat's what Burn told me dis mornin," He answered, sighing in next to Spot's desk.  
  
"Damn. I'se t'ought dem were jist rumors. So, how's dat going ta work?" Classical asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Spot, unknowingly, leaned closer to hear there rapidly softening words.  
  
"Don' know. But 'e said dat Spot didn't seem to upset wit seein Kelly again," Cross-Match shrugged innocently. Classical frowned.  
  
"How's can 'e NOT be upset? If a guy's tried dat on me. . .well, I'se not sure if I'se would even let 'im live."  
  
Spot froze as he realized what exactly they were discussing. He also grew angry quite fast. His own frown framing his face. Hadn't he told Burn to tell them that now of that was true and to not believe it? Instantly, his respect for the young newsie fell.  
  
"Yeah, I'se know, same 'ere. In fact -  
  
"Ya know, I'se right 'ere an' can hear everything yer sayin," Spot said, breaking up the conversation before it could get any further.  
  
Both boys stiffened as they realized their beloved hero was talking to them with an icy edge behind his voice. They turned to Spot and tried smiling innocently. Exchanging glances quickly, Spot glared over at them, keeping his eyes on theirs, making sure to make them good and uncomfortable before speaking.  
  
"An' I'se don' appreciate ya's talkin about me best friend dat way."  
  
Again the boys turned to each other, there eyes growing big at what Spot had said. Spot continued to glare at them, seeing the unanswered questions lighting through their eyes.  
  
"Yer. . .best friend?" Classical choked out. Voice cracking easily.  
  
Spot nodded. "Jist because Brooklyn and Manhattan hate each other now don' mean we wasn't allies back den. Jack's a great guy. . .da best leadeah I'se eveah seen. Betteah den me even because 'is boys actually like 'im. Or did."  
  
Neither newsie could even digest all of what Spot was telling them. "Youse mean. . .I mean ta say. . ."  
  
Spot narrowed his eyes at them. " 'E didn't 'jump' me or nuthin if dat's what yer asking. 'E always 'ad a steady goil. More so den me even. An' I'se think it would be a good idea if ya's didn't talk like dat around me when it comes ta 'im."  
  
They nodded vigorously and instantly headed up to the bunkrooms, shocked looks on their faces and whispering the moment they knew they were for sure out of Spot's hearing distance. Shaking his head in disgust, Spot turned his eyes back to the clock he'd been watching earlier and felt his anger melt away to the excitement and bouncy-ness he felt earlier.  
  
To help pass the restless time, he remembered. Memories of the better times. Memories from as far back as ten years earlier when they had first met when Jack stumbled drunkenly onto Brooklyn territory. And memories as recent as the day before and the kiss he and Jack had shared sitting on the docks that morning. The kiss had been so familiar and loving and. . .everything Spot wanted. A slow smile crept across his face as he thought of the day Jack left. Bittersweet in it's own right of existence.  
  
* * *  
  
(Flashback)  
  
Carefully, he raised his precious cowboy hat over his head and held it out to him. When he saw what Jack was doing his eyes went all big and he shook his head in protest.  
  
"Jist take it."  
  
"But I can't take dat Jack!"  
  
"Yes you can. And you will. Besides, I can buy a dozen hats once I'm in the real west."  
  
"I ain't got nuthin to give ya."  
  
"Sure ya do. An I'se already gots it. Ya jist won't feel it's gone until I've left."  
  
* * *  
  
That had been completely, utterly true. As time had worn on, the reality of Jack's leaving had worn on him because his heart had left with the brown haired dreamer. And sometimes, it was damn hard to function with a heart. But somehow he had managed to do it. Though he wasn't going to have to anymore. Jack was back. For good. And just that thought made a large smile leap out onto his face. Almost as if he was trying to hard.  
  
Focusing on the numbers by the clock once again, Spot felt his heartbeat begin to race as he saw that it was past time for him to go over to Manhattan to see Jack. Jumping to his feet quickly, he pushed past his desk just as Burn came strolling, soulfully, into the lodging house.  
  
"Look after da kids fer a while would ya Burn?" He rushed, catching the young boy by the elbow. Burn furrowed his eyebrows in question, but seeing the almost desperate look on his leaders face, he nodded. From there Spot dashed out of the door as if the whole lodging house was on fire.  
  
Walking briskly through the streets, he traveled the familiar path to the Brooklyn bridge, lost in his thoughts so totally that he didn't even notice the person he had bumped straight into. Looking up, he smiled sheepishly, tipped his hat to the taller, broader man and bowed slightly.  
  
"Me apologizes sir, I'se wasn't watchin where I'se was going."  
  
The man nodded, and Spot brushed past him on his way. That was, until the man called out to him. Freezing him to his place instantly.  
  
"Too busy thinkin 'bout yer boyfriend coming back ta town was you?" The almost familiar voice asked him. Spinning, he looked at the man, whose face was lit only by the closest lamp light and the moon's various shadows. Squinting, Spot took a step closer to the dark figure.  
  
"Do I'se know youse mistah?"  
  
"Oh, I'se quite sure ya do Conlon."  
  
He stepped into the full range of Spot's seeing distance, and Spot finally recognized them fully. And when he did, he let his surprise and shock fill his facial features fully. The man smirked openly at his formal leader's sudden lack of speech.  
  
"What, no words for me Spot?" He sneered, stepping closer to the younger man.  
  
"Wh - Rage, what are ya doing back in town?" He asked hesitantly, unsure of wither he could trust his former newsie. Or the smirk that was climbing across his face.  
  
"Oh, that? Well, I'se heard a rumor dat Jacky-boy was back in town. An' by the da way youse actin, I'se gonna say youse already seen 'im."  
  
Spot clenched his jaw and only nodded his head stiffly. "Dere somethin ya want Rage?"  
  
Rage smirked and walked right up to Spot, uncaring, unafraid as he had been all those years earlier. "Not particularly. But, well, I'se was planning on going over ta Manhattan an'. . .I don' know, mess around with Jack fer awhile."  
  
Spot's eyes darkened in anger and he finished off the distance between the two of them. "Don' youse dare touch Jack or I'se 'ill kill ya."  
  
"Dat a threat Conlon?" Rage growled.  
  
"No. Dat's a promise."  
  
"Well, in dat case, youse betteah start praying."  
  
The next thing Spot saw was total darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
Jack was staring to get really worried. Race had told him when he had gotten home that Spot had come over earlier in the morning to see what time Jack got off a work so he could tell him something. He'd been at the lodging house waiting since he'd gotten "home" at 6:30 and it was now approaching 10:00. He didn't want to seem out of whack, but he had a bad feeling about why Spot was late. And those thoughts were confirmed when Burn came bursting through the door shortly there after, a panicked look on his young face.  
  
"Where's Splinter? I'se need ta tawk ta 'im," He said desperately, throwing his eyes all around the mostly empty Manhattan lodging house.  
  
"Calm down kid. . .why do you need to see Splinter?" Jack asked, coming slowly out of the shadows were he had been watching the door just as desperately as Burn looked.  
  
Burn cast his eyes over at the older man, apprehensive about being around the famous strike leader. The rumors still bothering him, but what Spot had said had eased most of that. Spot. The reason he was here. His hero, his legend, the very essence of the Brooklyn newsie was missing. And to say it lightly, Burn was freaking out.  
  
"I'se. . .it's Spot. 'E's missing. 'E left da lodging house around 6:30 an' 'e hasn't been back since," Burn explained. He saw a flash of fear and horror in Jack's eyes before the man gained his composure and turned around to grab his coat.  
  
Jack walked to the edge of the stairs and yelled up for Splinter to get down there. He slipped on his coat and turned back around to face the kid staring at him in confusion. Arching an eyebrow he just stared back.  
  
"What? I'm coming with you to look for him."  
  
"Wese don' need yer help," Burn growled out, turning his stare into a glare instantly.  
  
Jack matched his glare and the kid actually snapped backward a little. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be. "I'se don' care if ya need my help or not. Spot's my friend. . .an' I'se coming with you." He said, his accent showing through in his angry and horrified state.  
  
The two glared openly at each other, until Splinter was heard rushing down the stairs and came up to Jack, questions and respect shining in his eyes.  
  
"What's going on? Burn? What'cha doing 'ere dis late at night?" He looked between the two people confused and lost.  
  
"Spot's missing," Jack croaked out when he saw that Burn was going to make no move of actually speaking.  
  
"So? What's it mattah ta me?" Splinter asked, shrugging.  
  
Jack turned his eyes to Splinter, quite sure that they were blazing black at the young teen. Splinter's eyes widened at the furious expression gracing Jack's features. He took a small backward and watched as Manhattan's former leader grew in anger.  
  
"So it doesn't matter to you. But it sure as hell mattah's ta me. Spot's me best friend," He said through clenched teeth.  
  
Splinter's eyes gained in width and he just stared dumbly at Jack. "Are youse serious? I'se thought you two hated each other?"  
  
"Well, wese don'. No put on a coat 'er somethin an' get yer ass out da door cause yer officially gonna help me an' Burn find 'im," Jack whispered venom filling his mouth as he spat out the edgy words.  
  
Splinter nodded in return, grabbed a thin jacket and headed out the door into the chilly, nighttime Manhattan air. Burn and Jack following closely at his heels.  
  
* * *  
  
(An hour and a half later, on the Brooklyn side of the bridge)  
  
"Wese been 'ere already ya dumbass," Splinter yelled when Burn led the trio into a section on Brooklyn they had already searched. Both newsies were well beyond fed-up while Jack was letting different ideas and thoughts flow through his mind. Which gave him something to focus on rather than the mind numbing fear about what may have possibly happened to Spot.  
  
As the two boys stood in the night screaming at each other in anger and weariness, Jack remembered that Spot normally took a different route when going to the bridge then everyone else took. His dark eyes swirled around the darkness quickly, calculating in his mind just what part of the town they were in. From there he decided they weren't far from Spot's normal walking path. Spinning around, he shut both boys up with an ear splitting whistle which echoed through the abandoned street.  
  
"What was dat fer?" Burn asked, his nerves and patience wearing ridiculously thin.  
  
"It was to shut you two up. I might know how we can find him. He used to take a totally different way to the bridge then everyone else. A path more along the alleys and docks. So if he's hurt or something, he's probably in those areas," Jack explained quickly to the teens.  
  
"An' how do ya know all dat?" Burn again asked, still not trusting Jack a hundred percent despite Spot's words.  
  
"Because we'd walk that way sometimes," Jack countered, eyes boring into the kid in front of him, a steely glare covering his face and masking his emotions.  
  
"Well, lead on Jack. . .I'se don' want ta be out 'ere fer da rest of da night ya know," Splinter forcefully said, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from going numb.  
  
And Jack did just that. Leading them through the dark twist of the familiar path Spot would take him on during there leader talks over in Brooklyn. Back then, Jack had always enjoyed the strolls, it was a nice change of scenery. But now it was just as dark, scary and frustrating as anything else would be at that moment. He walked faster then he should have. Until he turned down one of the corners and was struck with what looked like a human body lying on it's side by a lamppost.  
  
The body wasn't moving.  
  
The other two seemed to realize it the same moment Jack did and all three sprinted the rest of the short distance to the side of the person. Rolling the person over, Jack instantly recognized him as Spot. A bit bloody and beaten, but with the same boyishly handsome features Spot possessed.  
  
Leaning over, Spot's slight body he, smacked him gently on the sides of his face a few times. When that failed to wake him, he calmed his nerves and told Splinter to go and get some water from the nearby dock. He barely returned with the water, before Jack was pouring some of it onto the unconscious ex-Brooklyn leader. This time his choice worked and Spot coughed out some of the water, but opened his eyes only briefly before dropping them again and choked a little.  
  
"Jack? I'se cold," He managed to weakly say before falling back down to the street level.  
  
Jack hurriedly scooped the much smaller man into his outstretched arms and held his trembling body close to his. Instinctively, Spot flung his arms around Jack's neck and shivered. Jack motioned with his head for Burn to lead them back to the Brooklyn lodging house. Without any questions asked, or any protests made, the silent quartet made there way to the warm, well lit bunks.  
  
The Brooklyn newsies crowded around the door with panic and fear in there eyes when they saw the expression on there leaders face. Splinter followed him with Jack close behind with Spot still shivering, wet and bleeding in his strong arms. They turned their concerned eyes from their hero to the strange older man they'd never seen before. Burn waved them off slightly, a promise of an explanation later in his movements and eyes.  
  
Jack layied Spot gently down onto Spot's bed and immediately took off his jacket, and turned on the light so he could assess the damage down to his friend. Splinter was standing in the doorway, ready to take out any orders and Burn was inside the room, confusion and watching Spot lay on the bed.  
  
Sighing, Jack turned to Splinter first. "Could you go and get me some warm water and wash rag or something?"  
  
"Sure t'ing Jack," He said and went off in the direction of the washroom in search for the needed supplies.  
  
"And you. Take off his shirt," He said to Burn as he rolled up his white sleeves. Burn stared at him as if he had just asked him to jump off the Brooklyn bridge.  
  
"Are youse kiddin? Spot'll kill me if I'se take off 'is shirt!" He said in horror. Jack rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed and began to undo the shirt himself. To which he was stopped instantly by Burn who was glaring at him fiercely.  
  
"Dat don' mean youse can either," He growled menacingly at Jack.  
  
"Too bad. Because I am," He said snapping his wrist out of Burn's grip and finishing his job, and softly, with barely a touch, removed Spot's damp shirt. Bruises were beginning to form all over his chest and stomach. The discolored skin was enough to make Jack sick to his stomach.  
  
Splinter came skidding into the room with the water and wash rag, which Jack took with a thanking smile. He dipped the rag in, wrung it out and pulled up a chair next to the bed, dabbing the rag on gently, and cleaning off the cuts on Spot's pale face.  
  
Spot woke up again as Jack began to, as gently as he could, clean off a sliced cut on his cheekbone. Spot hissed at the pain and flew his eyes open, only to come face to face with Jack's eyes staring intently down at him.  
  
" 'Ay Jacky-boy, what'cha doing 'ere?" He asked in attempted humor, which only got him a glare from the larger man looming just above him. He backed off and let Jack continue what he was doing.  
  
It was then that he noticed the other two faces in the room. Burn was concerned and glaring slightly at Jack. Splinter, who was again leaning on the doorway, was watching the scene with an impassive look on his young face. Glancing back at Jack, he smiled inwardly.  
  
"Can you two do me a favoah an leave me and Kelly alone fer awhile," Spot asked, though his undertone was demanding and left no room for argument.  
  
Reluctantly the teens left, shutting the large door behind them. Licking his lips, (which he instantly regretted doing because his lip was cut) Spot looked up at Jack's face, concentrating on cleaning his battle wounds.  
  
"Jack? I -  
  
"What happened?" Jack cut him off.  
  
"I'se ran inta Rage on me way ta Manhattan."  
  
Jack arched an eyebrow and stopped his work and looked down at Spot's face fully for the first time.  
  
"And?"  
  
"AN' wese 'ad a fight," Spot elaborated.  
  
"Which obviously wasn't a very smart decision," Jack lamented, and brought his hand back up to clean off the final cut on Spot's face, right by his bottom lip.  
  
"Well, youse should Rage is ya's think dis is bad," Spot said, laughing uneasily. Jack unfortunately knew him well enough to see through him. He dropped the used wash rag into the water and traced his eyes down Spot's bruised body.  
  
"Don't be stupid Spot. You're not invincible ya know," Jack said seriously. Spot frowned at Jack's words.  
  
"What'da mean?"  
  
"I mean I don't want you making any rushed decisions. It took Burn, Splinter and me and hour and a half to find you, and it only took that little of time because I remembered that you used the different way to go to the bridge," Jack said, his voice on the edge.  
  
"So sorry yer highness. Next time I'se won't cause ya as much trouble. I'se 'ill jist die instead," Spot mumbled.  
  
Jack's eyes grew cloudy and he looked down at Spot intently. "Don't even joke around like that. If you died - just be careful huh?" His voice had started serious and ended softly.  
  
Spot softened and nodded his head to show that he understood. Jack leaned back in the chair he was sitting in near Spot's bed. Spot sat up and watched as Jack closed his eyes tiredly. He looked beat. Worn down and a hundred other sayings for weary and half dead from the tired. He was fascinated by the way Jack's chest moved up and down so perfectly in-sync with shallow breathing. Both hands were resting on his lap and his lips were slightly open. Too inviting for Spot to pass up.  
  
Creeping slowly over to where Jack sat, he leaned in from across the bed and pressed his lips to Jack's softly. But enough to make Jack snap his eyes open and push Spot backward some. Frustrated, and upset, Spot stared at Jack in complete shock.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed, eyes blazing at Spot. Spot stared back before answering dumbly.  
  
"Kissing you."  
  
Jack clenched his jaw. "I see, feel, that. What I mean is why?"  
  
"Why not? Is it suddenly a crime fer me ta kiss youse?" Spot asked, demanding an answer from Jack. Who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  
  
"No. But yesterday -  
  
"I know what I'se said yesterday. But dat was why I was going ta Manhattan in da foist place. I'se wanted ta talk to ya. I'se wanted to apologize an' . . . I'se want things back to da way da could've been if ya hadn't left," Spot dropped his gaze and focused them on his hands briefly, before risking a glance back up at Jack.  
  
Jack let a slow smile crawl across his face and he got up from his chair and sat down on the bed across from Spot. Putting a hand behind Spot's head, he pulled him down into a gentle, but loving kiss. One Spot gladly reciprocated, pressing his arching body up against Jack, forgetting entirely about the pain he had felt strongly just a few short moments before.  
  
When the kiss ended, Spot pulled away a little and looked straight into Jack's eyes. "I love ya Jack," He said seriously, to which Jack's smile just got bigger.  
  
"I know you do. And I love you too," He answered quietly.  
  
Liking that answer a lot, Spot pulled Jack back into a passionate and powerful kiss. Jack responded, but stopped after he felt himself being pulled down onto the bed on top of Spot. Looking Spot in the eyes, questions swam on the edge of his dancing brown eyes. Spot grinned suggestively.  
  
"Spot, your hurt. I'se don't want to hurt you anymore. Besides this probably isn't the best time to be doing this."  
  
Spot shrugged and wrapped his arms around Jack's neck pulling him down so he could whisper.  
  
"I know youse won't hurt me Jack. An' I'se been waitin fer dis a lot longer den youse 'ave. Ten years is long enough. If I'se don' get ya tonight I'se think I'll go insane," The smaller man said.  
  
Jack chuckled from deep his throat and turned his eyes back down to the man he considered his best friend (and love of his life) and took in his features before producing a sexy smile of his own.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you now would I?" He said huskily and dropped another piercing kiss on Spot's ready lips.  
  
Neither man was seen for the rest of the night.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: I apologize tons for the lack of updating! I have been so freakin busy that. . .well, here's this part and hopefully I try and get the next part out sooner for you guys. Again, I apologize. Tremendously!  
  
Special Thanks to:  
  
kellyanne: I understand the whole being busy thing. . .it all catches up to you at once doesn't? We have Homecoming this week and, arrg. . . and thanks for the review. I appreciate it!  
  
anUNDERCOVERnewsie: Seriously, kisses like that just don't seem to happen to people like me. Makes me sad. And I will keep writing! Thanks bunches!  
  
TheCrazyUnknown: Don't send the crazy bird after me, please? * shy's away from reviewer * j/k, do whatever you want. I deserve it for not updating this dang thing earlier. And they so belong together, so I had to make that happen in this chapter.  
  
SpotLover421: Spot always ruins the moment. . .jerk. J/K, I love Spot seriously, even if I torture him in most of my fics. And thanks for the review. Did you know your name is in my Microsoft word spelling check? Ha. I write it so much. . . but seriously I appreciate your loyalty!!!  
  
Nakaia Aidan-Sun: Here's more! Anyways, I have to thank you for your loyalty too! I feel so spoiled by everyone. . . and thank you again for updating The Cowboy and The Gambler. I feel better now. LOL.  
  
Sleet: Calm down! No more edges for you!! LOL. Anyways, thank you for the awesome compliments on my writing. * blushes slightly * So here's the next chapter, and be careful about those edges huh? I hear there dangerous. Jagged rocks below and all. 


	5. Chapter 5: Lies From A Hero Burn's POV

Chapter Five: Lies From A Hero (Burn's POV)  
  
He lied to me. Flat out lied to my face. I'm still in some form of shock trying to figure out why he would lie to me.  
  
I suppose I can understand his reasons. I mean, when I told him what we (as in the other Brooklyn boys and me) thought about Jack, I guess I did sound ridiculously sickened by the whole ordeal. But he had seemed so angry, so utterly pissed off that I could even think that about the "great" Jack Kelly. And so he lied to me. Told me Jack never tried anything with him, that he was straight. Covering up himself in the process.  
  
Maybe I noticed something in the intensity in which he said the words. The way he yelled at me. Maybe, in the back on my mind, I knew he was lying to me. And maybe that was why I "forgot" to tell the other guys that the rumors about Jack Kelly weren't true. And I guess that's why, when Spot asked me and Splinter to leave his room while Kelly was cleaning him, I stayed behind and listened to their conversation on the other side of the door. Splinter had wandered somewhere else and suspiciously I pressed my ear to the thin door.  
  
Someone should really tell them that you can hear everything from the other side.  
  
"Don't be stupid Spot. You're not invincible you know." I heard Jack's voice speaking first. I must've missed the beginning of the conversation. But what surprised me even more was that Spot just let him speak to him like that.  
  
"What'da mean?" Spot countered, his voice was small and misunderstanding.  
  
"I mean I don't want you making any rushed decisions. It took Burn, Splinter and me a hour and a half to find you, and it only took that little of time because I remembered that you used the different way to go to the bridge," Jack answered angrily.  
  
"So sorry yer highness. Next time I'se won't cause ya as much trouble. I'se 'ill jist die instead." I smirked at Spot's sarcasm. It was good to know that he still wasn't going to take any of that damned Manhattaner's disrespect.  
  
"Don't even joke around like that. If you died - just be careful huh?" If I didn't know any better I would've said that Jack sounded remorseful or sad at the thought. But I can't be too sure.  
  
Silence followed his statement for a little while. I heard the bed move under the pressure of Spot's body. I could only imagine that he was trying to sit up. But nothing more was said for a few moments, until Jack's disbelieving voice cut through my ears once again. He was whispering so I had to train my ears more to hear every word.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" I narrowed my eyes and waited for Spot's answer. An answer that about made me faint in absolute shock.  
  
"Kissing you."  
  
I snapped my head backward from the door and widened my eyes til I thought they might actually pop out of my head. I tried telling myself that he didn't mean that, that it wasn't true. But I wanted answers, and like the curiosity that killed the cat I leaned in for more information. For more lies to be uncovered.  
  
". . . What I mean is why?" Jack's stage whispered voice said.  
  
"Why not? Is it suddenly a crime fer me ta kiss youse?" Spot asked, sounding angry at Jack's cynical words.  
  
"No. But yesterday -  
  
Spot cut him off. What happened yesterday? I had noticed that when I came back to the lodging house after selling that Spot seemed down on something but the thought that Jack Kelly was the middle of it didn't even cross my mind at the time.  
  
Stupid me huh?  
  
"I know what I'se said yesterday. But dat was why I was going ta Manhattan in da foist place. I'se wanted ta talk to ya. I'se wanted to apologize an' . . . I'se want things back to da way da could've been if ya hadn't left," Spot's voice got softer and sadder as he continued speaking and I had to wonder if all these years I've been living in Brooklyn (five years) every time Spot had ever been sad, was it because Jack hadn't been there?  
  
Silence came through again. I wished, suddenly, that there was a small window on the door so I could watch what was going on. I heard the bed move again, but I wasn't sure if Jack or Spot had been the one moving. The silence dragged on for a few agonizingly long moments before Spot spoke again.  
  
"I love ya Jack."  
  
With those words, I leapt from the door as if it was on fire. I didn't even want to hear Jack's answer. I knew exactly what it was going to be, and I didn't want to hear those words come from him. It would make the situation so much more real.  
  
" 'Ay, Burn, youse alright?" Splinter's voice came into direct contact with my ringing ears as I tried to comprehend all that I had just heard.  
  
I turned to the newsie which was standing just by me. His expression was confused as he watched me very closely. I bit my lip, wondering to myself if I should tell him about what I had heard. Sure, I didn't get along with me, and more often then not we fought like cats and dogs, but, something in the back of my mind, told me that he probably deserved to know.  
  
"I'se fine," I answered slowly.  
  
He nodded, but still looked unsure. "Alright, well, yer boys want some answers an' dey don' want 'im from me."  
  
I nodded also and brushed past him on my way to the bunkroom were we all slept during the night. I stopped, abruptly, and turned back around to face him. "Are youse leaving yet?"  
  
"Ya mean fer Manhattan? Nah, I'se 'ill wait for Jack ta finish 'is business 'ere. . .why?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously back at me. I had to bite my cheek from saying something about him never going home then, but kept the words down my throat.  
  
"Cause I'se wants ta talk to ya about somethin important," I managed to say, and glared at him forcefully so he could understand that I was far from joking around about this.  
  
"Sure Burn, sure. . ." He trailed off and watched me climb the rest of the stairs to where the rest of my boys were sitting, not so patiently, for my explanation of Spot's condition and the mysteriously new stranger.  
  
"Burn, what happened ta Spot?" One of my bolder newsies, a skinny red- haired kid, appropriately nicknamed, 'Red', looked at me with wide anxious eyes.  
  
I sighed. "Spot's a little. . .hurt."  
  
"Why?" Red repeated, narrowing his own eyes.  
  
"Don' know. 'E didn't tell me alright?" I snapped at him angrily. Searching for Spot for hours on end did not help my weariness. Especially with Splinter tagging along happily, snapping at me the whole time.  
  
Red closed back into himself from my harsh tone and the others glanced at each other. Not knowing how to approach the next question all of them had on their minds. I'm stubborn though, if they want to know who Jack is, then they can ask me personally or never find out.  
  
"An' dat guy dat was with youse an' Splinter. . .da one holdin Spot. . .who is 'e?" Cross-Match asked me, an uncertain look in his eyes. Others around him turned to me, gazing as they patiently waited for my answer.  
  
I sighed again and ran a hand through my hair. "Dat was da almighty Jack Kelly himself."  
  
The room fell to an eerie realm of silence as the information sank into their minds slowly. Once the name had really reached their comprehension and the reality fell into their expressions, I saw the hatred and disgust also add into that. They all began to frown, believing the rumors so many Queens and Bronx kids had told us over the years. The rumors that Spot himself has lied to me about. Lied to my own damn face as if he didn't respect me at all.  
  
"Ya mean, DA Jack Kelly. Da Manhattan leadeah, da one who. . ." Crazy trailed off, his lips curling into a frown. I closed my eyes and despite my better judgement, decided to tell them the same lies I had been told.  
  
"It's da same Kelly alright, but, well, Spot wanted me ta talk to ya about dem rumors about 'im. . .it seems dat nuthin like dat eveah happened. In fact, Spot told me dat dey is da best of friends."  
  
I think there shocked expressions were something that shouldn't be taken for granted, and I instantly wished I had decided to not deny the rumors ever being real. But for there own good, I pushed the thought out of my mind and waited for an further comments from them so I could break and go and talk to Splinter finally.  
  
"So is Jack gone now?" Crazy continued, voice soft and calculating.  
  
"No. 'E's in wit Spot, cleanin 'im up."  
  
"Alone?"  
  
"Yeah. An' befoah ya say somethin, Spot was da one ta tell me an' Splinter ta get da hell out," I rapidly explained, not wanting anyone to jump down my throat for leaving the two ex leaders alone. Together. (And is that a oxymoron?) "Now, if ya's don' mind, I'se gots ta talk ta Splinter - alone - fer a few minutes. Leader business alright? Don' nobody be interruptin us."  
  
They nodded reluctantly, and I barely waited to see them turn to each other to gossip wildly before I was out the door and down the stairs to where Splinter was sitting in one of the chairs, a cigarette handing casually between his lips. He moved only slightly when I came over to him. Raising his eyebrows, he smirked and seemed to be questioning me with his own blue eyes.  
  
"Youse sure youse okay dere Burn? Ya look a little worn out," He said softly, maybe understanding the importance of the message I was going to give him and talking only in a whisper to guarantee that nobody else was going to hear him.  
  
"No, I ain't okay. Me boys jist gave me a hard time because yer boy Jack is 'ere," I snapped lightly at him. He raised his hands in so called defeat and continued to stare at me. He has a abundance of patience that I do not. Maybe that was something that made him such a good leader.  
  
"Dere a reason dey gots a problem wit Jack being 'ere?" He asked, breathing out a long somewhat sensual line of smoke in my face. Bastard.  
  
"Well, dey think dat Kelly's gay," I told 'im.  
  
"An' why do dey think dat?"  
  
"Rumors dat wese been hearing all our lives."  
  
"Ah. An' what ya 'ad ta convince dem dat dey weren't true or else dey was gonna flip out on ya right?" He said in a completely calm voice.  
  
"Yeah. It's hard ta convince people something's not right when it's actually true."  
  
Splinter just stared back at me, taking another drag from his cigarette. "An' why would ya say dat Burny?" He asked me in that annoying way of his.  
  
"Because it's true. I'se heard 'im talking ta each other after wese left da room. An' Spot kissed 'im an' said 'e loved Jack, an'. . .'e lied ta me. 'E told me dat Jack nevah came onto 'im." I shuddered visibly with rage.  
  
"Maybe 'e wasn't lying. Maybe Spot was da one dat came on ta Jack foist," Splinter shrugged, finishing off his cigarette and lighting up another one.  
  
That suggestion hit me. Maybe that was true. . .Spot was the one that kissed Jack in the room not the other way around and Jack actually seemed a little reluctant. . .wait. Why wasn't Splinter surprised about all this? I turned accusing eyes to him, which promptly made him stare back imploringly at me.  
  
"Why ain't youse surprised about dis?" I asked him. He shrugged.  
  
"Don' know. Maybe it's because I'se can see somethin like dis happening. . .or, hell, I don' know. Why are youse so surprised? Or disgusted?" He turned the question back on me.  
  
"Because dere two guys," I answered dumbly. I mean, isn't dat what everyone would think?  
  
Splinter looked at me hard, as if he was trying to figure out if I was serious or not. And when he figured I was, he burst out laughing. "Youse ain't serious are youse? Please tell me ya ain't serious!" He howled with laughter, while I watched him stunned beyond belief.  
  
"An' dere's a problem wit me being serious about dis?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest angrily.  
  
"Of course dere is! I mean, do youse mean ta tell me in all da time youse been a newsie youse ain't eveah checked anudder guy out?" Splinter looked at me with laughing eyes, a smirk gaining complete control over his teenage face.  
  
I opened my mouth to speak, but quickly closed it and glared at him in frustration and disbelief. "Of course I'se ain't eveah checked anudder guy out! Dat jist ain't right."  
  
Splinter rolled his eyes in the direction of the low hanging ceiling, taking a quick drag of his cigarette, he leaned forward from his chair towards me. (I had long since sat down in a chair positioned across from his) "Oh, come on, Burn. Youse gotta be lying. Fer five years ya been bathing, sleeping and generally living with other guys yer age. Ya can't sit dere an' tell me ya ain't neveah looked at another guy like ya normally look at da goils."  
  
"Well. . .I'se ain't. Why, 'ave you?" I asked, almost wishing the minute the words left my mouth that I hadn't said them.  
  
"Sure, as long as dey look good an' can stand up fer demselves, who da hell cares what kind of parts dey got?" Splinter asked, sticking his cigarette back into his mouth, speaking in a ridiculously monotonous voice.  
  
I just stared. Complete shock had taken over my body. Again, Splinter laughed at my expression, but then suddenly grew serious. He put out his cigarette and leaned in even more to me. Against my more logical side, I didn't move.  
  
"But youse ain't gonna say nothin to yer boys are ya? Because even if me own boys don' care, I'se don' want ta 'ave no wars wit you an' yer boys ya hear?" He said, and for a moment I thought I may have heard some kind of pleading in his normally strong voice.  
  
"Sure. . . I'se won't say nothin," I answered honestly.  
  
He nodded, looked at my face a little closer, letting his eyes roam over my face briefly before leaning back slowly in his chair.  
  
"So dis whole business wit Jack an' Spotty boy. . . youse ain't gonna freak out no more are ya? Ya ain't gonna go babbling yer mouth like always are ya?" He asked me, glaring daggers to make sure I knew what the consequences would be if I didn't agree with him.  
  
Sighing, I nodded. "Nah. . . no one would believe me if I'se told 'im dat Spot was gay anyway."  
  
Splinter smirked. "Yeah, I'se see what 'cha mean. I'se certainly didn't think so either, but I'se know ya wouldn't lie ta me, now would ya Burny?" He said mockingly, joking with me. When I glared at him, he merely winked at me and stood up to stretch the coldness out of his tall frame.  
  
"So, Brooklyn, ya's got anudder bunk I'se could use fer da night? Because it don' seem like dere gonna be coming out anytime tonight," Splinter said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at me. I groaned and pushed him in the general direction of the bunkhouse.  
  
Casting one more glance in the direction of Spot's bedroom, I swallowed hard and contained my senses. I wasn't as grossed out as the other guys, but then hearing what Splinter said. . . it makes me wonder. Probably more then I should be wondering about a topic like that. But hey, tomorrow, I can just blame it on the fact that I was so tired that maybe I was hearing things.  
  
Or maybe not. . .  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: Sorry, I just felt I had to write that chapter, because, well, I was sick of putting up the false pretenses and Burn and Splinter are kind of like main characters so. . . but the next chapter will be all Jack/Spot for you. With some more of that added drama. Plus, this chapter was the only "POV" chapter I'm going to write in this story. Just to let you know. But anyway, I've already started the sixth chapter so, be looking for that hopefully soon.  
  
Special thanks to:  
  
Nakaia Aidan-Sun: I do care! Seriously!!! And damn the colleges of America and their jockiness. (Ha! A new word!) But seriously, your welcome for updating. And thank you of my own.  
  
kellyanne: I feel the same way, I totally deprived him of any Jack action for, like, ever, and so I decided he definitely needed to get some or he would become all cranky and stuff. Try not to let Thistle kill you huh? Thanks anyways.  
  
SpotLover421: I needed to bring Rage back, because well, he's an added asshole to the story. You know, an obstacle. And yes, you are on my spell check. (hehe) I seriously do need to update Modern Torture and Delinquent Central, soon or I'm going to bug myself forever. Thanks for the review. And the reminder.  
  
TheCrazyUnknown: Seriously, gay guys and sweetness is very not fair. I have a gay friend and he is ridiculously sweet. Ticks me off sometimes. And I updated so there's no need to kidnap Jack or anything. . . please? Thanks. 


	6. Chapter 6: An Answer to Every Question

Chapter Six: An Answer to Every Question  
  
Spot woke up the next morning with the sun from his window basking on his bruised and cut face. The day smelled fresh, just the way he like it and despite the crack on his bottom lip, he smiled. The next thing he noticed was a strong arm linked around his waist and a hard body crushed up against his. Not to mention the warm breath tingling down his back and sent delicious shivers up and down his entire body. His smile only grew at this new information.  
  
Carefully, so as not to disturb anything, he turned around so that he was facing Jack, who was still sleeping peacefully. The expression adorning his face made him look younger then his actual twenty-five years. If Spot looked at Jack close enough, he could almost see the seventeen year old strike leader lurking just below his older, more grown up facial features. Lifting a hand, Spot pushed a strand of runaway hair from Jack's face and trailed his fingers down his lovers jawline. Sweeping them quickly over soft lips before falling uselessly back onto the bed.  
  
Moments later, Jack's coffee colored eyes were wide open and staring directly into Spot's sky blue ones. He blinked rapidly then let a bright genuine smile settle across his mouth.  
  
"Hey," He said softly to the smaller boy laying in front of him.  
  
"Hey. . .you're still 'ere," Spot commented, sounding slightly surprised.  
  
"Well, yeah. There a reason I shouldn't be?"  
  
"Don' know. I'se jist figured dat when I woke up you'd be long gone."  
  
Jack frowned and pulled Spot closer to himself. "I love you, you idiot. Why in the name of the devil would I want to leave you here all alone? Especially after last night."  
  
"Love youse too," Spot said as an answer.  
  
Jack brightened considerably and rolled slowly, reluctantly, out of bed. Spot whimpered only slightly at the loss of warmth. Jack quickly dressed and mused with his hair, taming it, in front of Spot's mirror. Spot furrowed his eyebrows at Jack's action, but said nothing of it. Grabbing his own pants from the floor beside him, he slipped them on and sat up in the bed to wait for Jack.  
  
When he did, he sat in the chair he sat in last night, which was still positioned by the edge of the bed. His expression had changed to a somber one as he looked Spot over his bare chest and face. Sighing, he leaned forward in the chair so he could whisper, despite the fact that they were alone.  
  
"Who did this to you Spot?"  
  
Spot visibly swallowed and let his hands drop to his lap. He didn't answer.  
  
"Last I knew, the whole of Brooklyn loved you, so when you get beaten this badly in your own home, that raises a few questions. Did you even know the guy? Or was he a total stranger to you?"  
  
Spot bit his lip momentarily. "I knew him," He mumbled softly. He twisted his hands some more. Head still bent downward. Carefully, (since their was a bruise on his chin) Jack lifted Spot's face to meet his. The other hand stilled Spot's hands, linking fingers with one of them.  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
Spot let out a breath and squeezed Jack's hand. "It was Rage. . .ya remember 'im don' 'cha?"  
  
Jack nodded. "Course I do. He's the one who really hated me." But the statement made Jack more confused then he already was. Holding Spot's hand a little firmer in his own, he coaxed the Brooklyn man to continue talking.  
  
"Do you have any idea why Rage, of all people, would do this to you?"  
  
Again, Spot nodded to Jack's utter astonishment.  
  
"'E knew I'se was going ta see youse. 'E knows yer back in town, Jack."  
  
Jack shrugged carelessly. "That doesn't tell me why he would beat up on you. He used to idolize you."  
  
"'E was one of dem boys dat saw me cryin da day after youse left. 'E was one of dem dat knew I loved youse. He left da lodging house about a month after 'e found out."  
  
Jack sat there in wonder and open surprise. Rage wanted to harm Spot? The same Rage that had worshipped the very ground Spot had walked on over eight years ago? He mentally shook himself out of his small reflections. What exactly had happened to this place after he had left? Licking his lips, he watched Spot's face as he began to speak once again.  
  
"I won't let him hurt you. . .you know that right? I'll do everything in my power to make damn sure of that."  
  
Spot smiled, almost wistfully, at this comment. "I'se know Jack. But don' go lookin fer trouble. I'd like ta keep youse in one piece."  
  
"Sure thing."  
  
They sat there staring at each other, until all at once, Jack realized where exactly he was. And how long he had been there. His face went slightly pale and his eyes grew in size as he glanced over at the over hanging clock on Spot's desk. Cursing under his breath at the time, he stood up and picked up his cast off jacket. Spot watched him in confusion.  
  
"Jack, what in da hell are ya doing?"  
  
"Leaving."  
  
"Leaving. . .where?"  
  
"You know that little place across the bridge, Manhattan? Well, technically I should've been there last night and god only knows what Race must be thinking. . ."  
  
Spot waved his hand dismissively. "Race knows all about us, youse know dat. 'E won't give a damn."  
  
While Spot had been speaking, Jack had walked over to the door and placed an ear to it. Trying to listen for sounds. Again he cursed softly.  
  
"Okay, nevermind Race. What about your newsies? And Splinter, who still seems to be here. Probably waiting for me. What are you going to tell them?"  
  
Spot stopped and froze. Jack was right, what was he going to tell them. Swallowing hard, he glanced at the door and back at Jack who had an eyebrow raised in question.  
  
"I. . .I'se don' know."  
  
"Exactly. . .look, I've got to go to work anyway. So I have to leave, and I'm sure Splinter will ask me questions. What should I tell him? That I was making sure you were okay? All night long?"  
  
Spot shrugged, he didn't really care what Jack told the Manhattan newsies leader. He was too worried about Burn and the rumors and how this very situation all but solved that the rumors were indeed true. This was going to cause problems – and lots of them. Jack furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the lost look on Spot's face. Sighing lightly to himself, he gently walked over to him and kneeled by the bed.  
  
"Spot, I have to go now. I don't care what you tell them. Honestly. Whatever you feel is best, but. . .if Rage gives you any problems. . .well, don't not tell me okay?"  
  
Spot snapped back into reality and watched Jack's concerned face. He smiled a genuine smile and nodded. "Alright Jack, sure."  
  
"Good boy," Jack answered, ruffling Spot's thick hair affectionately and kissing him lightly on the forehead. He checked himself in the mirror one last time, and then opened the door to leave.  
  
Spot hastily threw on his nearest shirt and limped slowly out to the hall where Jack was now talking quietly with Splinter, while the others all gazed at Jack. Cautiously. Everyone but Burn whose eyes, excuse the pun, were burning into him at an alarming rate.  
  
Jack turned slightly and saw Spot. He saw the limp and shook his head briefly. "Spot, do yourself a favor and stay off that leg huh? Don't go walking anywhere."  
  
"Sure thing, doc," He replied softly, and grinned slowly. Jack returned the smile and then he ushered Splinter outside. Following the teenage newsie closely.  
  
Spot watched them leave and was then acutely aware of dozens of pairs of eyes looking at him as if he had grown another head. He closed his eyes briefly, before glancing around at the staring, openly astonished newsies.  
  
"What are youse all lookin at?" He demanded in a strong, angry tone of voice. The newsies quickly averted their eyes and scooted away to different parts of the lodging house, getting ready for the day's rounds around the block.  
  
* * *  
  
Jack walked down the familiar beaten path to the equally familiar Brooklyn bridge. Splinter was trudging out in front of him, weary, tired and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He watched the young newsie out of the corner of his eye, wondered if he looked that cocky and ridiculous as a teenager. Reflecting back, he was quite sure he looked exactly that ridiculous. He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. He may have looked like that, but he KNEW that Spot had once looked like that. Had that factor that frightened even the toughest of thugs in the Brooklyn. Quite a feat for a, then, fifteen year old boy.  
  
His thoughts drifted over to the bruised man he had left only a few short moments ago. The emotions he felt when he had seen him lying there, the panic. . . he shivered just thinking about it. He never wanted to have to deal with that again. He'd rather die then see Spot get himself killed because he wouldn't listen to advice or went looking for trouble as he was so good at doing. He shook his head, throwing away any of his doubts. Hopefully, Spot had listened to him. Even if it was just this time.  
  
"'Ey, boss, what's da real reason youse stayed in Brooklyn all night?" Splinter's voice fell over his ears, cutting him roughly back to the present and reality. He glanced up and saw that the newsie was watching closely, looking for a genuine answer.  
  
"Honestly? You don't need to know," He answered, keeping up the pace as the early morning chill cut through him without any sign of mercy.  
  
Splinter continued to stare at him. Studying him, looking for something. Searching his eyes for the truth. What Jack wasn't telling him. All at once he smiled faintly. Barely there really, only a slight nudge of the lips moving upward at the corners. But it was there, and it puzzled Jack. The newsie took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in one long stream from his nose. Continued to watch Jack.  
  
The older man raised an eyebrow in silent question of the boy's actions. Letting his confusion show. "What is it? What do you want to say?"  
  
The smirk only grew on the teen's face. "'Ol Burny was right, after all."  
  
This statement only made Jack's confusion swell further, until he felt his eyebrows furrow and his lips turn into a slight frown. "What was Burn right about, exactly?"  
  
Splinter chuckled quietly, took another drag, and looked straight into Jack's eyes as he spoke his next words. "Youse really do love Spotty – boy."  
  
Jack froze. Physically felt his breathing stop, eyes widen, and the color drain from his face. He just stared at Splinter, completely speechless by this new revelation. When he felt his blood began to flow again, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. Took a couple steps closer to the other person.  
  
"And where, may I ask, would you find that out? Or rather, where would Burn get this?"  
  
Splinter kept the smirk and shrugged his shoulders, only annoying the ex- newsie more. "'E told me dat 'e heard ya last night. Somethin about love an' all dat Jazz. Look, if yer worried about Burn tellin someone, 'e ain't. An' I won't neither. We don' care nothin, neither. So, chill, old man."  
  
Jack snorted. "Old man?"  
  
But deep down he was secretly pleased that at least someone besides Race knew about their situation. Someone who wouldn't interfere, would just allow things to happen. And yet, their was still Rage out there somewhere. Angry. And apparently, in the mood to do some serious damage to his former leader. The frown on his face only deepened at that thought.  
  
"Now what's got you in a jumble?" Splinter frowned and resumed their walking through the dangerous territory.  
  
"Just thinking, don't worry about it."  
  
"Thinkin don' do ya no good if yer jist gonna mull over it. Why don'cha tell Splint all 'bout dis little thinkin thing."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow at his companions eagerness for information and being able to help in any way. "Ain't no thing. Just thinking about. . ." He trailed off and glanced down at the younger boy's dark eyes watching him intently. He licked his lips in thought then reproached the subject from a different angle.  
  
"I don't suppose you've ever heard of a guy that used to go by the name of Rage Donnelley?"  
  
Splinter got a contemplative look on his face. "Rage Donnelley? Don' know. Doesn't sound too familiar. . .why?"  
  
Jack sighed. "That's who got a hold of Spot. Used to be one of his newsies back in the day, one of the most loyal."  
  
Splinter frowned and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Hmm. . . well, can't say dat I'se know 'im, but I'll my eyes peeled, huh? Could tell da others da same. If ya want, I mean." A sheepish grin crossed his face. Displacing the street wise wisdom that accompanied all newsies eyes. Made him look more innocent and younger.  
  
"That would be excellent, thank you."  
  
Splinter actually blushed at this and brought a hand up and scratched the back of his neck in an unassuming gesture. "Ain't nothing, Jack."  
  
"Well, none the less. . .I just want to catch this bastard. He always did hate me. Don't know why, though."  
  
Splinter turned and threw his cigarette off the side of the bridge, just the small action woke Jack out of the semi-trance state he'd been in. For the first time, he realized that they had indeed entered the bridge. He shook his head briefly, trying to clear his head for the time being.  
  
"Maybe I can talk to Burny 'bout it. 'E'll want ta help if it concerns Conlon," The youth managed to say, looking at Jack out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Thought you and the Brooklyn boy hated each other?"  
  
"Yeah, well, we 'ave a common concern. Besides, after a little talk we 'ad last night, I think maybe we understand each other a bit better." Splinter shrugged and glanced down at the road under his shuffling feet.  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut as the pair walked on. Once they had reached the other end of the bridge, he turned and looked backward towards the city he had just departed and squinted his dark eyes against the sun's glare and the wicked wind's steady flow of force against him. He searched the shores and docks as if they could give him a clue. An answer. He received neither, and turned only when he heard Splinter cough, not so subtly.  
  
"Youse comin' anytime soon, Old Man?"  
  
Jack smirked at the expression. "Jist watch yer mouth ya punk," His voice slipped back into it's old New York accent for an added affect, and Splinter actually laughed out loud at that.  
  
The two made their way back to the Manhattan lodging house, trying to get last night's horrible thoughts out of the minds. Each person reflecting on their individual encounters and conversations of the night before. Neither spoke for the entire time as they walked slowly.  
  
* * *  
  
A twisted smile came on Rage's face as he watched Jack and the young kid he was with walk away without the least bit of acknowledgement or thought of him in their minds. He kept his almost black eyes on the pair until he could no longer see their backs from where he was standing on the dock. He was brought back to the land of the living when a bitter chill fell through his open jacket and he was forced to move further from the water so as to not get it's cold effects.  
  
His mind drifted slightly to the young, beaten man he had left in Brooklyn the night before and his smile only gained in strength. 'Should've known 'ol Jack would've let his boy die out dere.' He thought to himself, but surprisingly, without a bitterness too it that most would think he held for the handsome former gang leader. But then again, nobody ever really understood exactly where he stood in the situation of Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon. And nobody asked.  
  
Breathing into his freezing hands, he walked along the boardwalk silently, smiling slightly to the women who passed him by. Looking at him, there was nothing special about Mickey "Rage" Donnelley, but if one person had been smart enough to dig a little deeper then the rough and rumble exterior he had built for himself then they would have seen that his nickname was closer to the inside truth about him then any of his former newsie friends could ever have guessed. Nor could they have guessed his inner jealous bouts, and strange hungers and desires, and even if they had known, well, they knew better then to deal with him in a one on one basis.  
  
And now look where all that pent up, excuse the pun, rage had led him? Straight back across the bridge he swore to himself after leaving the newsies that he would never cross again. After all, what reason did have to come to Manhattan anyway? Jack was in New Mexico and he was the only one he cared to see. Well, maybe not cared. . .  
  
And damn Jack and his fool hardy ideas of love and loyalty and everything good. If he only hadn't come back. Then he would've had to confront, almost kill, his former friend and leader. But no, that stupid newsie never really did get any common sense, even after long years in the West. No, he still came back with his same annoying grin, and long fluttery hair and a face so pretty that Rage swore on his mama's grave that he could've fooled anyone given a dress and make-up.  
  
Rage shook his head and quickened his pace, not was not the time to let his thoughts stray to certain. . . matters. Now was a time to focus. To think about the situation he had hatched himself into. To get the rest of this elaborate plan in motion, and get this over with faster. The wheels began turning in his mind once again, and the evil glint in his eyes returned just as the smirk fell back into place on his face.  
  
"Welcome home, Jacky-boy. Welcome home."  
  
* * *  
  
AN: Oh. My. God. I feel like I'm being resurrected or something, I mean, damn! I am alive! For a few moments I was really beginning to wonder about that. Anyways, I totally, completely and all those other similar words, apologize for not getting this chapter out earlier, I mean, my god! * growls at myself * PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!! (If you haven't given up on my already.) 


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